


Knights in Shining and Rusted Armour

by BPforShort



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Boss Dialogue, First Person Narrative, Gen, chapter 16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 04:59:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BPforShort/pseuds/BPforShort
Summary: Eirika finds herself unable to move or interfere when Seth approaches the traitorous Orson for a duel.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I’m afraid this week will see a lot of SethRika and a lot of the Silver Knight in general from me; it’s just what I like to write for FE8! In my defense, though, with prompts like ‘Oath and/or Traitor,’ can you honestly blame me for having Seth and Orson respectively be the first characters I thought of?

With a final lunge and an extension of my arm, the rapier found its way through thick plate mail and felled the man inside it. I stepped back, pulling my weapon with me, and watched him fall to the ground. He should not be dead, unless I had horrendously missed my mark, but would no longer be a threat to us. A relieved sigh escaped my lips and I finally turned my other arm so I could look at an injury I’d taken on my way here. I hadn’t had an opportunity to treat it because our healers were all occupied elsewhere and every time we had felled an enemy, another one had shown up, but this man should have been the last. In case Ephraim and Innes had miscalculated, Franz stayed with me, watching the halls around us while I rubbed the stinging, potent balm of my vulnerary into and around the cut.

I just hoped it would heal before they would come by. Although I was by no means a porcelain doll to be handled with satin gloves, Ephraim and Seth would not take well to my having been injured. That wasn’t important now, though. What was, was how close we were. I hadn’t had time to closely evaluate the home of my youth during the battle, but now that I had a few moments to myself I could see the poor state of Castle Renais. I’d expected it to be plundered of valuables, but I had also expected –or hoped, I suppose- that whoever’s custody it had come into would have seen the halls and rooms themselves maintained. No such luck… Grado really did not care about the castle or the people of Renais. And if Seth’s intel had been accurate, then neither did Orson…

Speaking of Seth, here he came now. I admit it felt strange to see him approach me on foot, a bloodied sword in one hand. I’d grown accustomed to seeing him on his unruly but ultimately loyal horse, silver lance brandished to fell anyone foolish enough to receive his charge. But the castle halls had not been designed or built to accommodate cavalry, so he had opted to dismount and fight on foot, forgoing his normally favoured lance in favour of a more maneuverable sword. Ephraim was at his side, Reginleif held loosely in both hands. The lance had seen better days, much like my rapier. As hard as they would be to replace, we had to seriously consider it after today’s battle. But first, we had to pass through the large, ornate double doors that stood between us and the throne room. Knowing that Orson would have barricaded them –and would not hesitate to kill me, had I shown up alone- I had not tried to open them. Seth, however, had little patience.

He had been in quite a sour mood all day, honestly. We had split off into groups, with Franz and I cutting off reinforcements from the relatively safe east wing while Ephraim and Seth did the same in the more heavily guarded west wing, allowing the main body of our forces to engage Orson's unhindered, so I had not seen him cut down his foes, but I knew. Seth was a faithful knight of Renais, whose knightly vows and duties were his entire life. Whether as my protector, Ephraim’s right-hand man, Father’s advisor or our military’s general, he had made the castle grounds his home and many considered him a part of the royal family, whether he liked it or not. Seeing the castle’s deplorable state had filled me with sorrow, but him with anger; and that anger, he had channeled into his fighting form, which was better than I’d ever seen despite his ever-present shoulder wound. He held Grado and everyone allied with them responsible for everything, and they would learn why exactly the Silver Knight was a name known into the far reaches of the continent. Many already had.

I knew this. I knew all of this, and still, he caught me off-guard when he walked by me with purpose, stopping in front of the doors only to raise one leg and crash it, with his heavy greave and more force than I had expected, against one of the doors. I winced at the loud bang of steel on wood, and then again at the one of wood on stone as the door flew open with such force it rebounded off the wall inside. No barricade, then. I saw Ephraim frown for a split second, as confused as I was at this realization –that was basic siege strategy?- but if Seth were surprised by the ease with which he had breached the throne room, he hid it well. Ephraim and I followed him inside, Ephraim’s face settling into an expression of anger as well when he laid eyes on the man occupying Father’s throne. I, myself, had no time for anger. I was too taken aback at the sight.

I had known Orson before the war, of course. Not anywhere near as well as I knew Seth, who had been by my side since Ephraim and I had been children, but still, we had spoken. Ephraim wouldn’t have brought a total stranger into enemy territory. But the Orson I had known had been hale and hearty, a proud and handsome man despite his age starting to draw his face. His back had been straight, the grip on his weapon of choice firm but calm. The man rising from Father’s throne was a far cry from that Orson. He shook like a reed and his cheeks had sunk, matching the large bags under his eyes. He had lost so much weight that his clothes sagged around him and he looked like he could collapse under the weight of his armour at any moment, even as he brandished his blade.

He posed a challenge, and his eyes flitted back and forth between us as he waited for one of us to accept it. There was madness in him, clearly visible in his eyes and the jittery way he kept shifting his attention from one of us to another. It was difficult to watch, to see an esteemed and highly lauded knight of Renais having fallen so far. In that moment, I knew I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take him up on his challenge; I simply didn’t have it in me, even to put him out of his misery. I looked to my side, towards Ephraim. His grip on Reginleif had changed subtly, and he now held the spear in front of him. I assumed it was so he could more quickly parry any strike Orson might try to land. He looked at the former knight with a concentrated look I recognized- he always had it when he gauged an opponent’s skill and strength. Undoubtedly, he was evaluating whether or not he could fight him. He seemed to have no plans of stepping forward, though.

I saw movement in my peripheral vision and turned so I could see it fully. To my other side, Seth had stepped forward. I let out my breath –since when had I been holding that?- when I saw the calm determination on his face. Even before the mass death of many of our knights and Orson’s betrayal, Seth had always been the finest, most renowned knight in all of Renais. The flashes of silver that were his weapons when he subdued or slew his foes had earned him his title as the Silver Knight, as whom he was known all over the continent- despite his young age compared to the objectively more experienced Orson, his immeasurable talent and devotion to both us and his training had made him skilled enough that if anyone could dethrone the traitor, it was him.

“Seth…” when Orson spoke, even his voice sounded more ragged than I remembered. What had done all of this to him, I wondered? What had moved him to betray Renais and yet made him this shadow of the man he had been? “So you’ve come, have you?” The disdain for his former superior was evident in his tone, even with his voice so… damaged. Was that what betrayal did to a person? Or had the disdain always been there, just well-hidden?

Seth couldn’t have been accustomed to disrespect from an opponent he was about to duel; a side effect of his fame was that it commanded the respect of even mercenaries and bandits. Yet, he did not flinch nor acknowledge the tone in which Orson had addressed him. “Sir Orson,” was all he said. Even now, he addressed him by his title, speaking to him with the firm but respectful tone he also used with Forde, Kyle, and Franz. He would not let himself be seduced to lower himself to the level Orson currently occupied. He was better than that.

“You’re an impressive knight, Seth,” Orson said, but there was no admiration in his voice or his eyes. “You would sacrifice your life for king and country. Not even a moment’s pause.” That was true. With his bright red hair and his sharp nose, Seth didn’t necessarily look like the standard knights in shining armour that were illustrated in storybooks. But it would take a complete lack of understanding to deny that he was, truly, the very picture of knightly loyalty and conduct. He lived and breathed for us. He would die for us if we needed him to. He almost had, after all.

Judging from the way he spat at Seth’s feet, however, Orson did not consider this a positive at all. “It’s a pitiful, unrewarding life, through and through.” Ephraim looked at me, and I looked back. These were the words of an experienced knight with, up until now, a spotless history of service to his lieges. Had these always been his true feelings? Were there more knights in our service who felt the same way?

Seth’s clear voice woke me from my concerns. “It is my charge,” he said, unshaken by Orson’s insults. “It is my hope.” He did not deign to explain himself further. He had spoken the words with such conviction and confidence that Orson was visibly taken aback. It _was_ difficult to comprehend that a man so utterly and completely devoted to his lieges could exist, especially to someone who had given up on us and on his knightly vows. “Sir Orson…”

He raised his sword, holding it upright in a traditional greeting. A final tribute to the man Orson had once been. “Prepare yourself.”


End file.
